


Very Becoming

by illwynd



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bottom Thor (Marvel), Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Sexual Humor, intersex jotnar, trickster shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: In a tavern between realms, Loki spots a company of Aesir and decides he's going to amuse himself by making crude propositions to the man leading them. It doesn't go exactly as planned.





	Very Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> It seems like much of the fandom could do with a little something silly and light right now, so I hope this fits the bill. Let's call it another installment of Illwynd's Really Weird Fics, oddly fluffy edition. It's made of glued-together terrible pickup lines. 
> 
> (I may also have drawn some inspiration from [this lovely art](http://florbe-triz.tumblr.com/post/111237131177/loki-and-shitty-pick-up-lines) heheh.)
> 
> Also, thank you to Schaudwen for giving it a read-through! :D

In a tavern between the realms, filled with all manner of beings (some of whom would hardly have gotten along had they met in any less neutral and alcohol-soaked space), Loki the trickster bided his time, conjuring mischief in his head, pondering who to loose it upon.

There were other giants there, with wits that were no match for his, yet their greater strength and ferocity, and their proven willingness to attempt to cleave his head from his shoulders when provoked, nonetheless made them an attractive target, and Loki stroked a finger along his mustache as he thought of it.

There was also a contingent of Alfar clustered around one table, playing cards. The odor of spilt red wine wafted from their midst, and though the night was young, a few of their company were already quite loud and merry. Loki considered them as well, for Elves could be quite amusing to pester, with their notions of fair and proper, but their games this night made it almost _too_ easy. Loki tilted his head, watching one stumble and sway when he stood, listening to the slurring of their words. No, there would be little challenge in that.

He turned his attention to the next table, where a small group of Aesir sat with weapons on their belts and tankards gripped tightly before them.

“Well, hello,” Loki said to himself, his heart beginning to patter. Hard-bitten they looked, clad in furs and leather, and most of them glared around warily. All except the one who evidently led them, a large, smiling, broad-shouldered man with red hair and beard and an expression that might have been taken for fearless arrogance in one light, foolish naivete in another.

Leaning forward, Loki licked his lips. Showed his teeth in a grin. Loki simply had to vex him, and before he could stop himself, he had gotten to his feet and begun to stroll over toward that table.

But how best to accomplish it?

Loki was a very skilled practitioner, yet his feet had moved him before he had even formed a plan, and he strolled nearer, watching the gods’ eyes as they noted his approach, moving smoothly amidst the chaos of the tavern, sly smile on his face. There was one sure way with such men, and… Loki took in the face and form of his target, the massive arms perched on the table, the delicate sprinkling of freckles he could see on the man’s collarbone where the neck of his tunic slipped to one side, the cheerful earnestness of his bright eyes… well, either the proposition would properly vex him, or if he happened to be interested, Loki would hardly say no to that either.

He leaned one long arm on the tabletop when he reached it, eyes only upon one man, only feigning to glance up and down at the rest of the bench.

“My, my. Men from Aesir lands, is it?”

Closer in, Loki saw that his aim had been true: the other Aesir in the group bristled at Loki’s very presence. One put his hand below the table, surely to grasp the hilt of his blade. The others ceased their talk and watched him in the sudden silence. But his target merely turned his face to Loki, curious and expectant.

Loki met his gaze and held it, a hum starting in his veins.

“I simply have to ask: do you have any Jotun in you?”

At any moment the man would furiously deny it, would answer with confusion or disgust, and Loki—Loki would then deliver the rest of the line, lips curved into a lewd smile, looking him up and down such that there could be no mistaking his meaning. And then the fun would surely begin.

The words were ready on Loki’s tongue. His lips were parted, even.

But the man at the table—in the thicket of his red beard, his mouth broke into a pleased smile.

“Oh, yes!” he replied, hearty. “My father is half Jotun, by his mother, Bestla, a very fine giantess whom I remember fondly from my childhood years when she would visit us in Asgard and set me upon her knee to hear stories of great battles and cunning sorcery and mysteries from the misty ages past. My mother as well traced some portion of her lineage from Jotunheim, as many folk of Asgard do, and I take pride in that bloodline, no matter the conflicts between our lands.”

Loki’s mouth still hung slack, and his brows drew together as he listened to this declaration, blinking at the loss of his momentum.

“Um,” he answered, at a loss.

The other man continued to grin and seemed to be assessing him. “You are very perceptive to notice it, anyway. My name is Thor,” he added. “What might I call you?”

Loki had always been quick to recover, though, and his mind was flitting through yet more ways to achieve his aim.

He sidled closer to Thor, feeling the hostility of the other Aesir around the table, some of whom had hissed and grunted when Loki voiced his first query, surely seeing its aim better than the delightful man who led them. Loki relished it, and he lowered his voice and raised his brow as if imparting secrets.

“Some call me kin to fire, and indeed I was born of its spark. My dam was Laufey, the green branch, and my sire Farbauti, the striking bolt, and thus it is that I warm well each bed I lie in.” Loki quirked his lips and leaned an inch nearer. “I would be pleased to show you the hospitality of Jotunheim, Thor of Asgard, were we not so far from my dwelling place.”

Surely no one could miss the intention of such words.

Yet Thor returned his gaze near solemnly as he said it, and he nodded when Loki was done.

“I am honored to hear it,” he said. “And I would be glad as well to visit your home. But you name yourself in riddles! You call your father lightning—was he a storm giant? For that is the Jotun bloodline from which I trace my heritage, and from it I too have power over storms. Perhaps we are even kin! Please, though we both are far from home, please join my table this night. Drink with me, and let me hear your tales!”

At this point, faced with such little reaction to his insinuations, Loki would usually have suspected that he was being taunted subtly in return, and for a moment he did suspect it. But this man before him smiled earnestly, with naught more than eager friendship in his eyes. And another glance around the table revealed no sniggering, only a tense dismay.

Loki drew himself up then and gave his most courteous bow.

“If you are inviting me, I am fain to oblige.”

Thor’s smile grew broader as Loki took the seat beside him, and he called out for another cask of ale to be brought.

Loki could practically hear the rest of the table gritting their teeth.

*

And Loki found great amusement in it that, for the hours that followed, the man beside him seemed to take note of none of his advances. Not when Loki’s hand came to rest daringly upon his back and then his knee; Thor welcomed such casual touches but seemed to see no untoward intimacy about them. Nor did he appear to grasp the implication when Loki wove a fanciful tale of a tribe of three-legged Jotnar that he claimed to have encountered.

“Well,” Loki told him, waggling his eyebrows. “It only _appears_ so, you see. They clothe it in a trouser leg, for otherwise it might grow chilly in that climate, and it is true that they have been known to lean upon it when it is stiff and they are otherwise tired, but the third appendage I refer to is no more than their male member—prodigiously sized, even more so than for most giants.”

Thor had laughed loud and long at that.

“It seems hardly useful, if it was so!” he cried. “No one could receive such an organ.”

Loki gave him another innocent grin. “Could they not? I have heard tell of some who seek out congress with giants merely for that reason. In fact, that was what I at first supposed of you, and it was the reason I approached you: whatever your lineage, you struck me at once as one who could perhaps do with a little _more_ Jotun in him.”

How satisfying it was to deliver the words at last! To lick his tongue across his teeth and wait for understanding to sink in. But, feeling daring, or simply unable to stop himself, Loki continued while the flustered flush crept into the man’s cheeks, surely at any moment to turn to shock, to rage.

“And I still have not told you my name, have I? If you would know it, I will tell—but only once I lie between your legs and give you good cause to cry it out.”

Loki could not have been more surprised when instead of a fist, he was met with the sight of Thor’s blush deepening its red. Thor’s eyes flickering to meet his, rueful, shy.

“I thought you would never ask me plainly.”

*

At least Loki believed he could feel no greater surprise, yet he soon was proved wrong once he and the Aesir man were closed up in one of the inn’s private rooms.

“That is a lovely tunic,” Loki said as he worked at peeling it off Thor’s broad chest, feeling his own excitement fluttering in his belly. “Your weaver-maids of Asgard are very skilled. Yet I feel it will adorn this floor even better than it adorns your form.”

Thor grinned and laughed, lightly, and allowed Loki to strip from him his trousers and smallclothes as well, and he let Loki then press him onto the bed before Loki too scrambled out of his clothes.

He lay passive no longer than that, though, for he dragged Loki close and kissed him as soon as their skins were both bared, and his hands wandered boldly across Loki’s form until he had grasped him by the root and begun stroking, bringing Loki swiftly to full hardness.

“It is only a slight exaggeration to call it a third leg,” Loki said, gasping a little at the rough, pleasurable touch. “Don’t you agree?”

Thor still blushed a little, and bit his lip, and laughed. “I suppose we will see if I can indeed receive it,” he said as he spread his muscular thighs.

The greatest surprise was Loki’s discovery then, for he learned in that moment that Thor indeed had Jotun blood. Enough that beneath his thick, lovely cock waited a hidden slit, lightly furred.

Amazed, Loki touched it, rubbing his fingertips along its soft edges, making Thor shudder and moan. Parting the lips, glimpsing the tender pink inside. Already it was slicked in eager readiness.

“Tell me now your name, so I need not lie with a stranger,” Thor asked, gazing up at him. His red hair was spread upon the pillow, his pale, freckled chest rising and falling as he panted with desire. His eyes were still bright and welcoming, and he still had the aura about him of one that Loki would forever wish to tease.

Loki shuffled himself into place and pressed the head of his cock right up to the entrance of Thor’s wet cunt.

“It’s Loki,” he said in a whisper right before he slid his length inside. “Loki the trickster.”

*

The final surprise was gradual. Waking up the next morning, so pleased with his night’s success that he was willing to try to repeat it, to travel as Thor’s companion for the privilege of vexing him—if it could be called that—with further suggestions and further lewd acts.

Finding himself enjoying the man’s company for even more reason than that, as time went on. For Thor’s boisterous laugh and his heedless courage and his easy tenderness. For the way Thor seemed, likewise, to enjoy Loki’s presence. To place faith in him, though he had already seen Loki’s nature.

So Loki was still there, months later, when Thor’s belly began to swell. When it rounded with the child growing inside.

Loki liked then to have Thor lie, bare, while he kissed all up and down Thor’s skin and came up with jests to whisper, little bits of wordplay, before dropping his head between Thor’s thighs and putting his tongue to other use.

One such day, while Loki kissed his belly, it was Thor who began to laugh, chuckling softly at nothing.

“What?” asked Loki, slightly muffled.

“Mm, was simply thinking of the night we met.”

“Oh? And is it my wit in getting you into my bed that you’re recalling? Or the pleasure we shared once we reached it?”

Another chuckle. “Neither, really. I was just thinking that you were right.”

“Ah?” Loki replied. This was the sort of thing he liked to hear.

“Yes, and it’s just as you said, for now I do indeed have _a little Jotun_ in me.”

Loki groaned deeply to the sound of Thor once again chuckling.

But then he merely resumed kissing Thor’s belly, nuzzling at the soft, stretched skin.

He figured he deserved that one.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi to me on tumblr!](http://illwynd.tumblr.com/)


End file.
